


Voltron Defenders

by Imawriteritswhatido



Category: Voltron Force (2011), Voltron: Defender of the Universe (Devil's Due Comics), Voltron: Legendary Defender, Voltron: Lion Force (1984), Voltron: The Third Dimension (1998)
Genre: AU, Dads of Marmora (Voltron), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, eventual shallura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imawriteritswhatido/pseuds/Imawriteritswhatido
Summary: On June 10, 2016, a television series was released that touched the hearts of millions and within eight seasons, managed to turn the fandom inside out. Can someone hope to remake this series from the ground up, to make it into something more palatable? God knows I'll try...
Relationships: Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Haggar/Zarkon (Voltron)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 16





	Voltron Defenders

**Author's Note:**

> This is my AU of Voltron Legendary Defender. This is me remaking Voltron from the ground up. Hopefully, I haven’t bit off more than I can chew.

A movie could begin with that view, Lance thought to himself, looking out from his balcony to the bay.

Lance Alvarez had seen more picturesque views than any other human being alive, he liked to think. Of stars, of ancient temples, and beings beyond what his community college education could fathom, but in his mind nothing, absolutely nothing, could compare to a panoramic view of a Cuban sunset. Maybe he was just getting old, he thought, not that he could tell.

With the miracle of alien medicine, sixty was the new thirty-nine. He stretched, taking a deep breath of the cooling air. Yes, he thought, you could definitely start a movie like this.

The tell-tale click of the door opening behind him turned his head.

“Yes?” he asked.

A shock of hair the color of goose down poked through the door, followed by the head of a young man, probably around his son’s age.

“Mr. Alvarez?” he asked, uncertainty in not only his voice but his whole demeanor.

“Yes,” Lance said.

Lance’s visitor opened the door to Lance’s apartment all the way to reveal his cream-colored sweater and slacks.

“You’re…”

He paused, as if trying to figure out just what to say.

“You look different than your picture.”

Lance threw back his head and laughed.

“I’m sure I do,” he said, putting a hand on his stomach, “when you have Tex-Mex at Hunk and Shay’s, one plate isn’t enough!”

Lance’s visitor shifted, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry if I was rude.”

“No, you weren’t. What I did to Keith back on Arus that was rude.”

“Well, actually, that’s why I’m—well, why we’re here.”

“We?”

A young woman with a brown bob and a beret, followed by a familiar floating pyramid, poked her head into the doorway.

“Did you die from embarrassment yet, Daryl?”

The first visitor, Daryl, rolled his eyes.

“No, Lisa, but I appreciate the concern.”

And Lance had to appreciate the banter. It had been awhile since he’d heard some good wit.

“I see you’ve got a rover,” he said, pointing to the robot.

The girl, Lisa, brightened and walked into the room, revealing an all-black ensemble.

“You like it?” she asked, “It’s the latest model. It comes with three times the RAM and a built in translator.”

“I’ll bet,” Lance says, “I was there when the first Rover was made.”

“Get out of here!” the girl said, “you’re not that old.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Lance, “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“Uh, sure,” Daryl said, “just with sugar.”

“I’ll take some, too,” said Lisa, “but put the whole bottle of creamer in it.”

Lance nodded and headed for his kitchen.

“Now,” Lance said, putting a new filter into his coffee maker, “why are you here?”

“We spoke on the phone,” Daryl said from the other room, “We’re here for the interview.”

“Interview?”

“We’re working on a docu-series,” said Lisa, “focusing on your career…”

“Bullcrap,” Lance said, spooning coffee beans into the maker, “You want to know about Voltron.”

For about a minute, no sound came from the living room. After two minutes, Daryl poked his head into the kitchen doorway.

“Are we that obvious?”

“Well, considering I’m an old pro at that, I won’t hold it against you. But I can’t see what you want to know. Everyone’s already covered most of it…”

“But not the human side,” said Lisa, walking into the kitchen, “the side that everybody wants to know.”

“Still don’t see why you don’t talk to Hunk or Pidge…”

“We will,” said Daryl, “but we wanted to get your side of the story first.”

Lance smiled.

“Fifty years ago, I’d have been all over this.”

The coffee maker dinged.

“One of you grab some mugs from that cabinet over there. I’ll pour the coffee.”

Before long, Lance and his visitors had settled in the living room, all three of them drinking from matched mugs, with Lisa explaining the direction.

“…And then a voice over says ‘Terra is my nation. Deep space is my dwelling place, the stars my destination.’

“That’s pretty good.” said Lance, taking a sip of his coffee, “you come up with that?”

“It’s the final line of Alfred Bester’s most famous novel.” said Daryl.

“Never read Bester,” Lance replied.

“Okay,” Lisa said, moving to join Daryl on the couch, “you just start rolling and I’ll just film you while Daryl asks you questions.”

“Chévere,” Lance said, taking another drink of coffee.

“Alright,” Lisa said to her robot companion, “Rover, begin filming in ten seconds.”

“Any place you want me to start?” asked Lance.

Daryl had taken out a datapad, looking down at it. Probably had notes on that thing.

“Why not start at the Garrison? That’s where most people say this started.”

“Sounds good,” Lance said.

“And we’re rolling,” Lisa said, “in three, two…”

Lisa made mouthed the word ‘go’ to Lance.

Lance closed his eyes, thinking back to a time when it felt like anything was possible, when missing earth was nothing but a rough Wednesday.

“I first joined the Galaxy Garrison when I was fifteen. ‘Maybe you’ll be on the next mission to Kerberos.’ was what the ad on TV said. When I was a younger, I thought that would be me. I thought I could do anything…”

Lance looked back out the window of his balcony, up towards the stars he’d traversed in his youth.

“When we’re young, we look people in the eye and tell them we can do anything. That we’re the heroes of our own story, the next leaders, the next Neil Armstrong or Amelia Earhart.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts before turning to face his interviewers.

“But some of us aren’t heroes. Not in the way we think they should be. Voltron taught me that.”

Lance looked up at the walls of his home, walls full of posters and memorabilia. Underneath them were shelves lined with action figures of familiar robot lions, pictures of weddings, births, funerals, artwork, magazine covers, all of it dedicated to what was Voltron.

“It’s only now, when I’m old, that I realize how much I owe to Voltron. And to the people who made it possible.”

Lance looked down at another photo, one that held a special place in his heart, and smiled. Gritty and old, it sat in a cracked frame, showing two young men, one Cuban, the other Samoan. Both of them wore the uniforms of the Galaxy Garrison, Custodial division.


End file.
